


Take A Chance

by Imoshen



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: AU - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Plugs, Big Dildos, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova has no shame, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova is a Little Shit, PWP, Sex Toys, Well one, consensual voyeurism, kinkmeme fill, only these two, pwp and fluff in one story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: Joe accidentally opens a package meant for his neighbor Nicky. This will lead to awkward flirting, a very hot evening, and eventually love. (Also the realization that Nicky has no shame.)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 83
Kudos: 606





	Take A Chance

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this kinkememe fill](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4108.html?thread=1447436&posted=1#cmt1483788). 
> 
> This was meant to be a short, sexy fill. Then these two Happened.

As far as mistakes go, it’s an honest one. It’s also a very embarrassing one, and that’s saying something because Joe is not that easily embarrassed. Opening someone else’s mail would already be bad enough, but this…

Joe stares down at the contents of the package he’d opened without checking the address first, assuming it were the new sketch blocks he’d ordered. This… very much is _not_ a sketch book. Or anything even close.

Joe tilts his head as if that might change anything. Except for his neck protesting the angle, nothing happens. The package sits on his kitchen table, unchanged, containing one… very big sex toy. Joe is kind of tempted to pick it up and wrap his hands around it – yes, both of them – just to see _how_ big it is, because this cannot be anything else but a joke, right? Nobody actually puts that in their body, right?

He has to admit, though – it’s pretty. From a purely artistic point of view, of course. Not that Joe is a prude, his own bedside table holds an interesting collection of toys, but this… well. The mind boggles.

Since the gold-pink-purple freaking _dildo_ is refusing to change shape and become the sketch blocks he really, really needs, Joe bites the bullet and closes the package again to peer at the name printed onto the shipping label.

_Nicky DiGenova._

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course the package containing the huge goddamn dildo belongs to the cute guy living on the floor above Joe. He knows Nicky from meeting him on the stairs, or occasionally when they were both waiting for the next bus into town. Nicky’s the kind of guy who will help old Signora Petrelli carry her groceries upstairs and calm a child who fell and skinned a knee with the same kind smile and warm words, and Joe had had vague ideas of maybe asking him out for a coffee or something, but Nicky apparently works insane hours and Joe hasn’t figured his schedule out yet – no surprise there, his own artist’s schedule is prone to change with the weather and inspiration’s compliance.

At least he now knows Nicky’s interested in dicks, he thinks, just a little hysterically. Or at least, interested in giant silicone dildos. Maybe he ordered it for the artistic value?

_Of course, Joe_ , his brain tells him. It sounds suspiciously like his sister. _Everybody spends a lot of money on a sex toy just to put it on a shelf and show it off to visitors._

Yeah, okay, maybe not. Joe takes a deep breath and goes to dig out the tape from his kitchen drawer. He isn't enough of a coward and an asshole to make the package disappear just because he doesn’t want to admit he knows what’s inside, so he’ll have to walk up that flight of stairs, look Nicky in the eye and hand over the package. Talk about walk of shame, he thinks. It certainly applies in this situation, even if the meaning usually is rather different.

He’s grateful he decided against shaving the beard off. Maybe it’ll help a little and hide his burning cheeks.

He nearly loses his nerve again as he’s waiting in front of Nicky’s door, but he’s rung the bell already and even if he just plopped down the package and ran back downstairs, even if he somehow managed to hide behind his own door in time so Nicky didn’t spot him… he’d certainly blush bright red the first time they met in the hallway again. Also, his mother’s “I am disappointed in the choices you made, I raised you better than that Yusuf,” face would probably take up permanent residence in his head, and that would not be helpful for his productivity at all. So he stays where he is and takes a deep breath – just as the door finally opens.

“Ciao!” Nicky greets him with a bright smile. “Joe, I was just about to come down – I have a package that was addressed to you.”

Fuck, why does the man have to be so damned _nice_ on top of everything else? Joe clears his throat. “Yes, well… I got yours, and I did not check the label because I thought it was mine. I’m really sorry,” he adds and hopes he isn't blushing quite as hot as his face feels right now. Nicky, to his credit, just smiles wider and holds out his hands.

“Eh, that’s fine. Here, I’ll just go and get yours. Want to come in?”

What Joe actually wants is to be able to turn back time to about an hour ago when he picked up this damn package, make sure he never opens it and just takes it up to Nicky, and maybe one day work up the nerve to ask him out on a coffee date. Since he can’t do magic or time travel, he does the next best thing and nods, steps into Nicky’s apartment and lets the door close behind him.

If the sweet, gentle man who apparently orders gigantic dildos online is also a closet serial killer, well. At least he’ll be looking at someone pretty as he dies. (Joe may or may not have watched a few too many real crime shows. Sue him.)

Their apartments are set up pretty similarly, Joe realizes as he follows Nicky into his bright kitchen. There’s a package of similar size to the one Nicky plucked from Joe’s hands waiting on the table, and Joe breathes a sigh of relief – he really did need those sketch blocks, and would’ve hated to have to run all over town to try and find this specific brand and size in a store anywhere. He knows how difficult that is, he’d tried three separate times before ordering online.

Nicky’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, and Joe realizes he’s just spent Allah knows how long staring at Nicky’s kitchen table. Can this day get any worse for his self-esteem? “Just put it down on the table,” the Italian tells him, and he’s still smiling that warm smile. Joe carefully sets the package down and then has no idea what to do with his hands. Nicky saves him by handing him his own package, and Joe carefully clings to it in a way that he hopes doesn’t make it look as if he’s clinging to a damned _package_.

_Get your act together, al-Kaysani_ , he thinks and manages to offer Nicky a genuine smile. “Thank you,” he says and nods down at the package now in his hands. “I really needed those today so I’m glad they ended up with you.”

Nicky shrugs, still totally relaxed. He must have realized by now Joe knows what’s sitting in that innocent bit of cardboard on the table. Either he has the best poker face Joe’s come across yet, or he genuinely has no shame. “I think Signore Rosso accepted them, and he is never wearing his glasses. I don’t think he even knows who we are.”

The old man really doesn’t, Joe knows. He’s lost count of how many different names he’s been greeted with when they meet in the hallway. “Probably not,” he agrees, and he really should apologize again and leave, but he’s strangely reluctant to do so, now he’s here. Nicky’s kitchen is light and warm and _feels_ friendly, welcoming even. It’s a far cry from Joe’s apartment, which has last been modernized sometime in the late 1970s. He’s been busy since moving in, okay? “I’ll make sure I look at the address before I open a package next time.”

Nicky’s smile widens into a grin. “Who knows, next time you might find Signora Petrelli’s order on your doorstep,” he teases, and Joe finds himself laughing, too. Signora Petrelli has not ordered anything in her life, not online, not in a catalogue. It’s one of the things she will go off on a tangent about whenever she spies a package waiting by a neighbor’s door.

“I really need to unpack this and start working,” he says reluctantly, because he does and because the idea he’s had for this project is now poking at his brain, demanding he start _now_. “So… yeah, sorry again for opening that.”

“It’s really fine,” Nicky insists. He walks close enough past Joe for him to get a whiff of the man’s aftershave, which is all kinds of evil because now Joe knows how he _smells_ and Oh Merciful Allah, he did not need that knowledge. “Can I ask what it’s going to be?”

Joe answers on autopilot. “Not yet, but I promise I’ll show you once I’m done.”

Nicky opens his apartment door and grants Joe another of those warm smiles. “I’d love to see it,” he says, and Joe thinks he must give some kind of answer and say goodbye, but it’s all lost in a kind of haze because _that damn smile_.

His own apartment is cool and empty and feels nothing like him, the way Nicky’s kitchen felt like Nicky. Joe takes a deep breath and walks through to his studio.

He has work to do, and this is one of two rooms that _do_ feel like him. He’d rather not go into his bedroom right now, though.

Joe’s been working on his project for long enough to have two cups of tea gone stone-cold on his little table, have nearly taken a sip from his brush cup two different times, and the scene he has had in his head is actually taking shape on the paper in front of him.

His mind flashes back to Nicky’s wide smile, to the big dildo nestled in its package, and Joe bluescreens as his brain helpfully informs him chances are Nicky is shoving that up his ass right now. Joe, always having been blessed with an active imagination, needs a moment to shake that thought and the accompanying mental image. He has never seen Nicky in anything tightfitting enough to be able to guess at how he might look naked, but his brain has zero problems substituting.

Joe takes a deep breath, sips his stone-cold tea, and shoves that thought as far back as it will go.

It doesn’t stay gone.

Over the next few days, at the most random intervals, his brain will remind him of that toy, the pastel colors, the silver gleam of the glitter in the silicone, and then suggest that Nicky might be enjoying it right then. It inevitably leads to Joe having to forcefully return his thoughts to the task at hand: working on his aquarelle painting, making dinner, shopping for groceries (he does not buy that cucumber and hopes he isn't blushing for the rest of that grocery run) and – on the occasion it happens as he’s idly contemplating the pros and cons of jerking off before getting out of bed – has him staring at his dick as if it personally betrayed him by twitching in interest.

In short, he’s fucked, and not the fun way either. He’s just relieved that he doesn’t run into Nicky for a full week after that package exchange because he’s afraid of what might come out of his mouth if they did meet.

Of course, the day after he gives in and allows himself to imagine Nicky (or a shadowy male he pretends _isn’t_ Nicky and really knows better… _anyway_ ) riding that ridiculously big dildo until his brain gives up and melts and he’s an exhausted mess in his bed is the day he runs into Nicky.

Because it’s Joe, and Lady Luck has decided he’s off her favorite list this month, they run into each other at the local grocery store, and Nicky has a cucumber in his basket. Joe sees it as they greet each other, and his traitorous brain promptly hijacks his mouth and bypasses any and all filters he might have had.

“Please tell me that’s meant for dinner,” he hears himself say. Nicky glances down at his basket, then up at Joe, and his eyes are dancing with mirth. Joe considers the merits of throwing his basket away and running. How fast can he pack up his apartment and move to another city?

“That’s not meant for dinner,” Nicky tells him, and that grin is utterly free of mercy. “This is going to be… a snack.”

Joe slaps his hand over his face in lieu of hightailing it out of the store and the whole city. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I usually have a better filter.”

Nicky laughs, bright and happy. “Don’t worry about it,” he says once he’s calmed down, and Joe peers at him from between his fingers. Nicky is still smiling, no judgement in his gaze. He’s not even blushing as he continues. “Thought about The Mystic then, have you?”

The way he says it makes the capitals obvious and knowing that toy has an actual name… well, it doesn’t make anything better or worse, Joe decides. He does let his hand fall back down to his side because he’s blushing so hard his ears are starting to feel warm and really, he’ll probably be blushing for the next six to eight weeks when he sees Nicky. Better get used to it.

“I have,” he admits, and his brain-to-mouth filter must still be recovering, because what follows is, “and you using it.”

What. The. Fuck. Joe. Maybe he should see into selling his apartment and moving after all. Maybe another country would be a better idea. He’s heart Antarctica is nice.

Nicky’s smile turns decidedly wicked as Joe watches, waiting for a reaction to that revelation. It’s not quite what he anticipated.

“I haven’t yet,” is what Nicky says, blinking at Joe as if they’re talking about a recipe instead of… well. “Some things take time and I didn’t want to rush… but I was going to, tonight.”

Shit, shit, fuck, Joe is so fucked. He’s going to spend all evening imagining Nicky sliding that dildo into his hole now. He’s so busy cursing himself for opening his mouth, it takes a moment for Nicky’s next words to translate.

“Want to watch?”

Joe’s brain is using his mouth again without any input from his though processes because what comes out is “Yes!” instead of “Are you sure?”. Nicky’s grin widens into a smile again, though his eyes are still glittering. Joe belatedly realizes that’s probably a warning sign.

“Great!” he says, as if he hasn’t just invited Joe to watch him shove a ridiculously big sex toy up his ass tonight. “Come up at around seven, I’ll be a good Italian and feed you, yes? Any food allergies, dietary requirements?”

Joe rattles down the primer for halal food on autopilot because he’s busy chanting _What the fuck what the fuck_ in his head. Nicky nods and smiles and turns to walk down the aisle towards the dairy section with a happy “ _Ciao_ , until later!”, and Joe watches his hips sway just a little. His oh-so-helpful brain bypasses his panicked chanting and informs him Nicky’s ass does look good in those jeans.

Joe has to agree.

Well, fuck.

By the time half past six rolls around, Joe’s brain has gone back to providing actual, useful thoughts. Unfortunately, that involves telling him exactly what kind of fool he made of himself that afternoon, and at the same time informing him that dinner with Nicky is _dinner with Nicky_ and could almost be considered a date.

Joe considers firing his brain.

He also considers changing into something else, but as he walks into his bedroom with the intention of going through his closet to see what he might change into, he remembers exactly why he’s going upstairs to have dinner with Nicky.

After dinner, he’ll have a front-row seat to Nicky shoving a giant, pastel gold-pinkish-purple-glitter silicone toy up his ass.

The flush of heat that accompanies that thought, as well as the enthusiastic twitch his traitorous dick adds to the whole mess, doesn’t help with his nerves. It does convince him that changing into something more fitting for a dinner date is probably not needed. His jeans and t-shirt will do.

Nicky opens the door on the first knock, smiles his wide, warm smile at Joe and angles his body into an invitation to enter without having to say the words. “I went with a classic,” Nicky says as he closes the door behind Joe. “Pasta, and pesto. I hope that’s okay?”

Going by the scents that linger in the hallway, it will be more than okay. Joe tells Nicky so and delights in the laugh it earns him.

“I enjoy cooking,” Nicky admits as they walk into his kitchen again. The big table is set for two, a bottle of sparkling water waiting in a wine cooler. “I don’t get to do it often enough.”

Joe can relate. “Pulling out all the stops for just oneself feels like too much,” he agrees wryly, and Nicky smiles at him from over his shoulder. Joe’s heart hitches a little in his chest.

Aside from the pasta, there’s also bread that’s so fresh and warm it has to be homemade. They talk as they eat, about their neighbors and Joe’s art, about how they’ve both just drifted into this town and stayed because why not? Joe learns Nicky is a psychiatrist, working with traumatized children and teens, and his respect for the man climbs to a new high. In turn, he tells Nicky about the art project taking shape up in his studio, the same one he’d started on the day of the package mess-up.

Conversation with Nicky is easy, and Joe almost forgets why he’s sitting at Nicky’s table and eating his food. The memory only returns full-force once they’re done (Joe has not licked his plate clean, but it was an effort to refrain) and Nicky leans back in his seat and watches Joe over the rim of his water glass. His expression is somewhere between amused and careful. “So,” he says. “Still sure you want to watch?”

Joe puts his glass down very carefully and for once, his brain doesn’t go off the rails. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says slowly. “I mean, it’s something that’s pretty intimate.”

Nicky chuckles at that, and Joe is prepared to be called old-fashioned or romantic or something along those lines. What he doesn’t expect is for Nicky to lean forward, elbows on the table, and look at him for a few moments. “That’s sweet,” he finally says, and nothing in his voice or expression is teasing. “And you’re right, too. But in case you hadn’t noticed: I have very little shame. I promise you won’t make me uncomfortable, Joe. So if you want to watch, you’re still welcome.”

Joe swallows, because it feels as if they’re talking about more than just him watching Nicky have a pleasurable time with a ridiculously-sized toy. “Then yes, I still want to watch.”

Nicky smiles at him and stands, holds out a hand. “C’mon,” is all he says.

The room Nicky leads him into is… not quite what Joe expected to find. It’s certainly not Nicky’s bedroom.

“Did you forget to tell me about a side job?” he asks, only half-joking. Nicky glances at him over his shoulder and laughs.

“You do realize you just asked if I’m a prostitute, yes?”

Joe can feel his face warm, but Nicky’s hand is still in his and the laugh was warm, so he’s clearly not offended. “Can you blame me?” he asks, pointing to the set-up of the room. A few chairs share space with a low, wide bench that is, of all things, black leather. There’s a bottle of water waiting on a side table, along with a rather big bottle of lube. Joe’s gaze catches on the tripod set up in front of the bench and he blinks. “If you tell me there’s videos of you online, I may have to embarrass myself and beg for links.”

Aaaand there his brain goes again, using his mouth without his permission.

“Not online, no.” Nicky tugs him further into the room and squeezes his hand. “These are for me. I need to write a review, later, and well… sometimes it’s hard to take notes as you do the actual testing, you know?”

Joe doesn’t, but something clicks into place. “You… test sex toys.”

Nicky nods, grinning now. “It’s fun and I get free toys,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I only do written reviews though. You’re getting the special treatment, here.”

“I’m honored,” Joe says, because what else do you say to that? He also lets Nicky direct him into a chair that’s actually comfortable and has a good view of the bench, at an angle to the camera. Nicky winks at him, walks over to the tripod and fiddles with the camera for a moment. Then he strips off his shirt and stretches, and Joe’s mouth dries up just like that.

Nicky is beautiful. He’s all pale skin and light muscles, sleek like a big cat. (Joe _is_ a romantic and, sometimes, a poet. Sue him.) He sheds his sweatpants before he crawls up onto the bench, and Joe hesitates just for a second because really, he’s about to watch Nicky _test_ a dildo. Nicky’s already half-hard, and Joe wonders absently if he’s excited for the testing or if he’s excited about the idea of Joe watching him. Maybe both, he thinks, watching Nicky get comfortable. _That_ ends with him facing away, his long back and pretty ass turned towards Joe, and it also makes Joe look at the toy that has been waiting on that bench the whole time.

It looks even bigger standing up, against the backdrop of Nicky’s body, than it did in its package. Joe is no stranger to anal sex, but he has to wonder if Nicky’s body can actually take it.

“Please tell me you’re going to work up to that,” he can’t help but say. Nicky laughs and bends forward, reaches back to pull himself open for Joe’s gaze. He also reveals the base of a plug… that has to have been inside him the entire time they sat and ate. Joe’s brain might just short-circuit a little.

“I did,” Nicky says and fuck, his voice has dropped and gone gravelly. “Not going to be enough though.” His long fingers wrap around the base of the plug, tug it out slowly. His rim stretches around the thickest part, but it’s a lot smaller than the dildo sitting ready. “Gonna be here a while.”

They are, but Joe really doesn’t mind. Watching Nicky work himself open further, slick fingers and low moans, turns out to be the single hottest thing he’s ever seen. His cock strains against his jeans within minutes, and he must make some kind of noise when he presses his hand against the bulge because Nicky twists and looks at him over his shoulder. It’s enough to make his cock twitch again because _fuck_ , Nicky’s lips are bitten red and full, and his eyes are blown wide with arousal. He still manages a smirk, the damn tease.

“Go on,” he rasps out, licks his lips. His eyes flutter shut, he must’ve hit a good angle with his fingers because he hasn’t stopped moving. “ _Fuck…_ ”

Joe doesn’t need more than that, fingers scrambling to undo his belt and button and zip, free himself from his jeans. He hisses when his fingers wrap around his erection, too much and not enough at the same time. Nicky makes a hungry little noise, and when Joe looks back up at him, his eyes are fixed on Joe’s hand around his dick.

“Almost tempted to ride that instead,” he rasps, and Joe growls a little.

“You promised me a show, remember?”

Nicky manages to laugh, though it breaks into a moan quickly. “I did,” he agrees, and those long fingers slide out of his body, leave him open and wet and _fuck_ , Joe wants to crawl up behind him and… well, there’s so many things he wants to do.

He does none of them, because Nicky sits up and shifts until he’s hovering above the dildo that started all this. It’s still ridiculously big, and Nicky’s lube-slick fingers stroking up and down the length of it just emphasize that. But there’s no hesitation to Nicky’s movements as he wraps his hand more firmly around the girth of it and lowers himself down. His body accepts the first few inches easily, Joe can see where his hole stretches to accommodate the toy. Nicky moans, pauses to rock up and slide back down again, and Joe drinks him in as if he’s been out in the desert for days and Nicky is an oasis. His hand on his own dick is almost an afterthought, his strokes almost non-existent because he’s so wrapped up in watching Nicky.

The hand wrapped around the toy disappears, then comes back dripping more lube. Nicky strokes it down the part of the toy not yet lodged in his body, then resumes his slow up-and-down motions. Every time he sinks down, he goes a little deeper, takes a little more of the thick toy into his body. Joe listens to the moans it pulls from Nicky’s throat, watches his rim stretch and cling to the silicone. It’s mesmerizing to watch, and he knows, deep down, he’s ruined for anyone else by now. Nothing will ever come close to watching Nicky.

It still seems impossible he’ll be able to fit the entire thing into his hole, because his rim is so stretched by now, surely there’s nothing more his body can give… but Nicky sucks in a breath and sinks down further and moans as if it’s been punched out of him, slides up just a tiny bit and pushes himself down harder. Joe bites his lip, watches as more and more of the toy slides into Nicky’s body and wonders how it must feel to be so full, so stretched. The way Nicky moans and arches for it, pretty damn good.

Joe has no idea how much time has passed, only knows his skin is too tight for his body and his dick is _aching_ in his hand by the time Nicky slides down all the way, the base of the toy sitting snug against his hole. He’s trembling with it, head thrown back and eyes closed as far as Joe can tell, and his hands are digging into the bench where he’s supporting himself. He holds still for just a moment, then he’s rocking up again, letting the toy slide out a good half of the way before he sinks down again. He picks up his pace, the muscles in his thighs working, and Joe forgets to stroke himself as he watches. Nicky, taking his pleasure without an ounce of shame, is beyond fascinating, beyond hot. Joe wants to crawl closer, wants to kiss his way up those strong legs, feel the muscles work beneath the skin. He wants to run his fingers along where Nicky is stretched so wide, be the reason for those moans falling from Nicky’s lips.

He wants to hold him, later, when he’s all sated and lazy with it.

Nicky sinks down all the way again, and his shout may have been words, but Joe doesn’t think so because Nicky is twitching on the toy, rocking up and down in short motions, and Joe can’t see his front from this angle but he knows how a man in the throes of a spectacular orgasm looks like.

Nicky is fucking sexy when he comes.

Joe doesn’t close his eyes as his hand picks up speed again, strokes himself just the way he likes. He watches as Nicky stills, breathing hard and his muscles still twitching, the toy still deep inside. He’s holding back and not quite sure why, not until Nicky pulls off the toy with a groan and curls onto his side, a lazy sprawl of limbs. His gaze feels like a brand on Joe’s skin, and there’s that damn grin playing about his mouth again.

“Come on,” he rasps, his voice a scratchy ruin of before. Joe shivers. “Let me watch you now. Fuck, you’re beautiful Yusuf.”

For some reason, the sound of his given name in that fucked-out voice from Nicky’s lips is enough. Joe bucks into his fist, hisses a curse and rides out his orgasm, strokes himself through it. He makes a mess of his hand and his clothes, but he can’t be arsed to care. When the world decides to swim back into focus, Nicky’s gaze is still on him, and he looks so damn satisfied Joe’s cock gives another weak twitch.

They catch their breath in silence for a few moments, Joe sprawled in his chair and Nicky stretched out on his bench. The moment ends with Nicky stretching luxuriously and rolling to his feet. “I need a shower.”

Joe snorts and nods, because Nicky is a mess – lube running down his legs, come drying on his skin, his hair a sweaty mess. “I should…”

“You should come join me,” Nicky interrupts, not unkindly. He pauses to shut down the recording, then comes to stand beside Joe, smiling down at him. “Shower’s big enough for two.”

It’s not the sort of invitation Joe is prepared to deny in any way, shape, or form, which is how he finds himself naked in Nicky’s shower just a few minutes later, with a wet Nicky, loose-limbed and sated, within touching distance. His brain goes back to working without active input from his thoughts when faced with that, which is how he ends up with his arms wrapped around that warm, wet body and his mouth on Nicky’s.

To be entirely fair, he’s not quite sure which one of them closed the distance first. What he knows is that Nicky kisses him back with a happy little purr, and his fingers wind their way into Joe’s hair and refuse to leave even when they part for air. Joe runs his fingers up and down the line of Nicky’s spine and watches him smile.

“Can I take you to bed, Yusuf?” Nicky asks quietly, as if the question is too big to be asked out loud. The man who so brazenly invited him to watch as he rode a huge damn dildo, gone shy over asking him to stay the night. Joe cups that lovely cheek and strokes a thumb over the beauty mark next to Nicky’s mouth.

“You can,” he agrees just as quietly, watches Nicky’s eyes brighten with happiness. He wants to keep putting that light there. “Fair warning, though. I might not want to leave it again.”

Nicky laughs, soft and husky. “Joe,” he says, tugs on a wet curl. “That is the opposite of a problem.”

True to his warning, Joe doesn’t leave in the morning. Nicky likes being held, cuddles himself into Joe without protest, warm and sleepy. His kisses are slow and designed to break Joe’s brain, which is how one kiss turns to five turns to half an hour of kissing before either of them notices.

They eat breakfast curled into each other between the sheets, and because Nicky has the day off – “I never play like that when I have to work the next day,” he admits with a grin, and Joe laughs and compliments his planning – and well, Joe makes his own hours, they spend several more hours like that, wrapped up in each other and Nicky’s sheets. They take their time learning each other, gentle touches and soft laughter, and Joe learns Nicky is just as happy to spread him out on his back and wreck him with hands and mouth and cock as he was putting on a show for him. Joe has zero objections to this.

Nicky is a warm weight draped over him, and Joe’s not quite sure if orgasm made him stupid of if his brain has hijacked his mouth again, because he wasn’t consciously planning to brush his lips against Nicky’s temple and whisper “amore mio” against his skin. Once it’s happened though… well, there’s no sudden sense of panic in his belly. Not even when Nicky stirs and pushes up onto his elbows to look down at Joe for a long moment.

“You mean it,” he murmurs, and Joe nods because yes, he does, and he won’t take it back now. Nicky smiles and settles back down. “Good. So do I.”

There’s a package waiting by their front door when Joe comes home. He picks it up and glances at the label out of habit, and his blood warms with happiness at the “Signore Nico al-Kaysani” printed black on white. It’s been a year since the modest little ceremony and he thinks it’s a good sign that seeing evidence of it in their day-to-day lives still gives him a happy little jolt every time.

His husband is in the kitchen, singing along to the radio as he chops vegetables. He looks up when Joe enters, and the smile on his face is wide and happy. “There you are,” he greets Joe. “I was wondering if you had decided to run away after all.”

“Never,” Joe promises, grinning at the reminder of their shared laughter when he shared his side of their grocery store conversation. “You are the light of my eyes, the love of my live, the breath in my lungs.”

Nicky is used to his bouts of poetry by now, but he still catches Joe’s face in both hands, holds him still for a kiss that tastes of spices and mozzarella. Joe hums and licks deeper for a taste of Nicky beneath it, only lets him up for air once he has what he wanted. Nicky groans.

“Goddamn tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” Joe replies. He sets the package down well away from where Nicky’s preparing dinner and taps the cardboard. “New order, or something else?”

Nicky stretches to peer at the label and grins. “They asked me what we wanted to try,” he says and goes back to chopping carrots. “So, a little of both.”

Joe’s knees threaten to go weak on him in anticipation. When Nicky’s grinning like that, it always ends with him in a sore, exhausted mess and his husband smug for days on end. “Do I get to know what’s in there?”

“Later,” Nicky promises, still wearing that wicked, wicked grin. “For now, wash up and then help me with dinner, husband mine.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Joe was right – he does end up a sore, exhausted mess, and Nicky is smug about it for days. It’s well earned, because even with their adventurous escapades, Joe can count on one hand the times his husband made him come hard enough to pass out not once, but twice. Both the swing restraint system and the remote-controlled vibrating cock ring and plug earn an outstanding test review, and promptly end up in their ‘favorites’ drawer. (Joe takes his revenge on Nicky two weeks later, to their mutual great satisfaction.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make an author's day <3


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